


To Devour.

by orphan_account



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: 'hard vore', Cannibalism, Mild Gore, Poison Ivy - Freeform, ivy voice: youve been chopped, mild? is this mild? i can't tell, not really im sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-19
Updated: 2018-04-19
Packaged: 2019-04-24 19:35:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14362182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: When a man is injured, you take advantage of his weakness. When a man is injured, you eat him alive.





	To Devour.

Irving Newberry was fresh out of high school, an honest, average student, who had received his letter of acceptance to Gotham University only a day prior. With wide, bright blue eyes, and a large smile, he had promised his parents that in his newfound adulthood, he would make them proud, and be a good man. However, as teenagers often do, he lapsed from his main goal for a day of socializing with friends, though in his defense, it took a good amount of convincing from comrades telling him he needed to unwind. He relented, yes, but drew the line at drinking; he wasn't interested in having a hangover while still mentally preparing himself to go to college; it seemed rather unwise.

Despite not having one of the many beers his compatriots brought with them, Irving was caught up in their intoxicated shenanigans, much to his chagrin. The evening turned into early morning, and things had turned into a blur hours before. Staving off sleep as best as he could at three in the morning, he was brought back to reality by the distinct sound of a tree collapsing. Alarmed, he turned his attention to his schoolmates, only to see that one of them had acquired a hand-saw at some point during the night, and had been hacking at the poor plant for god knows how long. Fed up with the behavior of these, drunken ingrates, he stands to leave. He does not.

* * *

 

Men.

Now, Pamela had never thought of nature as something that could ever make a mistake, considering that every plant was made with such care and detail, every leaf unique and beautiful in its own right, but the creation of man was something Ivy would confidently say was nature’s biggest blunder yet. If you wanted an example, look at what they had done now. A once tall, beautiful Flowering Dogwood now collapsed upon the ground, and for what? Sick amusement? The advancement of production and pollution, from which Man thrived? Even the thought of how many trees were being rendered to mere stumps by machines and saws made her stomach churn in disgust, tasting bile on her tongue. She sets a delicate hand upon the once strong, thriving tree, and runs her thumb over the bark, as if to comfort the poor thing.

**_Men._ **

They were all the same, destructive, with no regard for anything beautiful. Corpses littered the area around her, heads bloody and beaten in from being rammed into the tree that they had just ruthlessly murdered. In her mighty rage, she had avenged the tree; though no matter what she would do, it would never flower again. They needed to be hurt, like they hurt her plants, her children; they needed to be set an example of. She honestly, didn't have much of a choice. Now, the fools who thought it acceptable to harm what was hers would serve as nutrients for future plants to thrive upon. It was only fair, after all.

As she turned, ready to leave, thinking her work done, she spotted movement in the corner of her eye.

_Oh?_

An eyebrow raises as she turns back around to inspect the scene with more care. There were four men that laid upon the floor - three and two halves, really.

Only three stayed unmoving.

One of the men weakly tried to scuffle away, fingers digging into dirt as an anchor with which to propel himself away from his assailant. His attempts were to no avail, however, as vines were quick to curl around the culprit’s ankles, and tug the **bastard** violently back below her. Bark ground into his flesh, vines digging into his skin.

"Please," the man starts to speak, voice broken and hands clasping together. "don't h-"

He had little time to yelp, another set of vines snaking up to his mouth, serving as a gag. Green eyes would scan the man, a quivering mess, which only reminded her of why she hated them in the first place. So ugly, so imperfect, so hideous. He didn't deserve a chance to speak, a chance to _plead_.

Drool cascaded down the man’s chin, attempts to speak blocked by vines which held his tongue with no surprising amount of strength. Perhaps he was attempting to plead for his life, or perhaps he was calling out to whatever _god_ he thought could protect him now. The thought was amusing; like she would even consider sparing a life so meaningless. Men were roaches upon Earth’s lovely soil, and eradicating them was nothing but the beginning of a deep cleanse, a favour, for her dear, lovely Mother Earth.

Vines pull the man up to his feet, and despite the gag, a groan of pain escapes bleeding, swollen lips. A sharp bone protrudes from his leg, blood cascading steadily from the wound that he was only now acknowledging. Dirt and grime decorated the gash, blood puddling in the dirt below. Perhaps he would have screamed, had he been able, but he managed only a muffled gasp. Ivy’s touch is delicate - frighteningly so, as she takes the man's chin in one hand, and turns his head to look at the other limp bodies with which they were surrounded.

“They will fertilize the soil, now.” She says, though the man doesn’t register that she is speaking.

“Plants are adaptable, nature’s greatest feat; they feed off of the dirtiest things, and somehow become even more beautiful than they were before.”

A sigh leaves her, and eyes refocus upon the unfortunate soul.

“The same applies to me.”

She was one with nature, yes; but to what extent? The answer; to the furthest extent possible. And with no hesitation, does she begin. Dainty, green fingers, are quick to peel away the other’s shirt, the cloth desperately clinging to the skin, wet with blood and sweat. The man was of average size, young; in his late teens, perhaps.

Yes, he would suffice.

His hair was brown, matted with viscera, clinging to his scalp, his eyes a radiant blue. Fingers traced the outline of his torso, and a cold hand pressed against his stomach, his breathing rapid. Ivy can sense his confusion, and vines give a tug upon his limbs, to ensure that he was unable to move. Lips hover above his ribcage for only a moment, before teeth sink into flesh, eliciting an attempt at a shriek to escape the boy. His skin is tender; yet firm, as is to be expected of a man his age, though she had not yet broken skin. It went without saying that his blood was going to be good for her.

Though blood had turned to chlorophyll, and skin had turned into a beautiful green, she still possessed the teeth she had as a human, one of the few things that did not change with her, and she often found it difficult to eat this way. Tightening her jaw, the man above her let out a shrill cry from his throat, and bucked away from her touch, but another set of vines erupted from the ground and held him steady.

Sweat slid down his skin, but she paid little attention to him as a person, and more attention to him as a piece of meat. In an attempt to tear muscle, she grinds her teeth upon flesh, and finally garners results. As soon as skin breaks, mouth floods with the familiar flavor of viscera; metallic, salty, and above all, satisfying. There's a hefty chunk that tore away with a rip, and a squelch, which gave way to more heavy bleeding, and more attempted cries for help by her main course.

Tongue swirls around the muscle, warm, and bleeding. After a moment of chewing, she swallows. The skin was elastic, but the taste was the same as usual. Humans might look and act differently, but they were all made of the same things, and all tasted the same. With a wet smack, teeth continued to work on exposed muscle and bone, finding that ingesting flesh through an opening was substantially easier than attempting to make a new wound every time.

Tongue laps at something harder than what she had previously encountered, and with a harsh bite, does she discover she'd hit an artery. A pleasured, guttural noise rips itself from her lips, and she presses her face deeper into the spray, taking all that she could into her. More. She needed **_more_ **. With every touch, every nip and every bite, the victim of her actions tensed and writhed, tears streaming down bloodstained cheeks.

Noises become more frantic and panicked, just as he continuously becomes more pale by the minute. As she moves away, fluid gushes out of the gash with a surprising amount of speed down his stomach, sanguine liquid leaving a gentle trail of pink as it moves along. Innocently, she wipes away the gore that lay upon her lips with the back of her hand, and removes the vines from the other's mouth. He seems to make one last attempt to scream, and though nothing was stopping him, he stays silent, now gone.

He collapses with a much less magnificent thud than the tree, and with a wave of her hand, the bodies were covered by plants, as if they were never there at all; save for the occasional blood stain.

As Ivy stands, and begins to walk away, one would swear that she must have been glowing.

**Author's Note:**

> ngl i want poison ivy to eat me alive too.


End file.
